


On My Honor

by Erisabesu (ErisabesuFic)



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 20:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21361951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErisabesuFic/pseuds/Erisabesu
Summary: “Every time, the pretense is the same…”  [2009.08.03]
Relationships: Shibuya Shouri/Conrart Weller
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	On My Honor

**“On My Honor”**

◊

Shouri always begins by folding his glasses and placing them on the nightstand before turning those serious eyes in his direction. Every time, the pretense is the same: _Can I really trust you to keep him safe?_

When Conrad visits Earth, it’s a given that Shouri has devised a new test with new rules and higher stakes, a duel they repeat in silence and in secret in Shouri’s room next door to His Majesty’s. It’s the only way to keep their battles fair; Shouri wields no sword, and Conrad has no maryoku to call to his waiting fingers. So it comes down to the one thing they two have in abundance–_endurance_.

On this night there’s triple the risk–with Wolfram next door on a guest futon and Gwendel on the sofa below. It’s not just Shouri’s brother who might overhear, so Conrad’s test is mental and physical, maintaining perfect silence while Shouri strips him down and stirs up all that he’s held back since the last time, abstinent except for these infrequent nights spent in a parallel world. Shouri’s typist’s hands have learned the spots that make Conrad’s body tighten in arousal, his teeth teasing the line of Conrad’s collarbone and the arc of his throat without giving up so much noise as a panting breath. Shouri’s lips ghost over Conrad’s ear in maddening slowness, stretching the tingling moment in a sadistic anticipation of victory sealed by a kiss just under Conrad’s jaw.

Conrad digs his fingers into the blankets to keep quiet, but fixes both eyes to Shouri’s, wholly unwilling to concede defeat–he will not be underestimated. Shouri smirks, oblivious to the way his pale Japanese skin has bloomed pink with matching desire. Then, Conrad can see no more than the crown of black hair on Shouri’s head as Earth’s next Maou slides down between his thighs.

It bothers Conrad more than he’d like to admit, to know that Shouri must have learned these things from _someone_. But after Shouri has put that wicked tongue to work and swallowed him whole, Conrad can’t think of any other thing but clamping his lips together and regulating his breathing so that the tiniest moan will not come out. Shouri widens his legs, draws blunt nails down the backs of his thighs, mouth and throat so wet and good. Conrad counts to ten, over and over, then tries reciting lines of aged hymns to Shinou Heika while Shouri does his best to break him.

A lesser man would have fallen in the first minute, but a lesser man would not be worthy of remaining at His Majesty’s side and so–Conrad must not give in. This is as important to Shouri as it is to him, and the grip of his hands turns his knuckles bone-white, the power of his will alone keeping his release–that of his body; that of his voice–at bay for as long as Shouri deems necessary. Finally, _finally_, Shouri lifts his head and looks Conrad right in the eye, one eyebrow raised in mute, frustrated acknowledgement.

A drop of sweat slips down the side of Conrad’s face. For a moment they are both still; Conrad watches Shouri carefully, eyes following the firm line of his lips, still moist from such a lengthy siege. Then Shouri stands at the foot of the bed and pulls his nightshirt over his head.

Conrad swallows, waiting for what comes next, as Shouri drops his shed clothing into a pile on the floor. He eases overtop Conrad’s body, their heights and proportions as similar as their devotion to His Majesty. Shouri buries his hands under the pillow cradling Conrad’s head and leans close enough for a brush of lips, but no such touch takes place. Shouri draws out the bottle of lubricant and begins his next series of attacks, a slick hand reaching backward to prepare both his body and Conrad’s for his personal, perfected version of a swordfighter’s _Coup de Grace_.

Shouri’s knees straddle Conrad’s hips and dig into his flanks, tongue moving up Conrad’s neck and teasing the inner curves of his ear. Conrad holds his breath and feels Shouri’s lips smile against his skin, taunting him. But Conrad can also feel the way Shouri’s toes flex into the mattress in urgency, and the fine tremors of need rippling across Shouri’s naked body. This kind of test cuts both ways.

Shouri sits up, planting a steadying hand on Conrad’s washboard stomach and piercing him with that signature, challenging gaze. Shouri’s other hand guides the tip of Conrad’s cock while his hips shift backward and Conrad goes rigid, teeth clenched tight as Shouri allows their bodies to meet and join in one slow, agonizing motion. Not a single sound escapes from either of them. Conrad shudders, and then exhales before Shouri can begin moving and turn a small thing like breathing into something entirely unimportant.

Shouri does move, though, all those muscles trained in countless hours of Judo shifting forward and back in rapid determination to make Conrad lose this game, to prove him unfit to protect his precious brother. Conrad knows that watching Shouri like this is dangerous, a man so intellectual and brilliant and yet so unaware of the wanton expression on his face.

Or maybe Shouri knows exacly how sexy he looks, Conrad thinks, curling his hands deeper into the blankets from the effort of holding off his climax. Shouri sees him do this and changes his rhythm, angling deeper, arching his back. Conrad can’t help moving with him, thrusting upward and seeing Shouri’s expression change to one with hooded eyes and a scowling, petulant mouth.

It’s this stubbornness that Conrad likes best, a trait that runs in the Shibuya family and is especially strong in the eldest son. But he refuses to be outdone–despite the sweet pleasure of Shouri’s body driving him mad with every passing second.

And then they hear it–light footsteps in His Majesty’s room, and the door opening.

Shouri goes still, eyes wide, neck craning towards the doorway.

Conrad moves his hips, reminding Shouri that they are not finished no matter which of their brothers might pass by the room. Shouri whips his head around, brows furrowed, but Conrad will not let him stop. He bucks harder and Shouri’s hands brace on his chest, not a noise to give them away while those footsteps outside come closer and closer.

Conrad moves his hands to Shouri’s thighs, slides them up to his hips while Shouri glares, cheeks now a full-on flush. Shouri pushes against his chest and tries to regain control but it’s just too much–the footsteps outside make Shouri tremble, every sensation made so much more intense by the very real danger of being caught this time.

Shouri tries to hold it in, but Conrad knows the warning signs and pushes his body upright so he can grab Shouri’s head and stop him from letting out any cry by pressing their mouths together. He stifles Shouri’s gasp with lips and tongue, preserving their temporary vow of silence with kisses that sear, all that was missing between them before now. Shouri’s moan slips down Conrad’s throat, and the footsteps pass right by the door.

Conrad drops a hand down to Shouri’s straining cock and strokes him, slow and sure, feeling every bit of Shouri’s pleasure where their bodies connect. Shouri holds onto him, fingers grabbing tufts of Conrad’s hair and yanking to show his annoyance although Conrad knows it for the front it is. He sucks on Shouri’s tongue and they hear water running in the distance, he speeds up his hand on Shouri’s cock and they hear those footsteps returning back the way they came. Shouri’s body goes rigid and still Conrad does not stop touching him and Shouri comes–a wild thrash in Conrad’s lap that brings Conrad’s release along with it, just as the sounds of His Majesty’s feet vanish next door.

Shouri knocks Conrad backward and they collapse in a heap, struggling to keep their breathing in check. Conrad knows Shouri is angry; if he hadn’t kissed Shouri right then… But he did, and they’re safe, and that’s what matters.

Shouri is the first to move, shoving away from him and reaching for the box of tissues. Conrad grabs his arm and pulls him back in close, folding Shouri into his arms and placing a chaste kiss on the back of Shouri’s neck.

_I’ll protect you as well as I protect His Majesty, Shouri._

Shouri hmphs, and drags the sheets over their sweaty bodies, settling in. Conrad smiles, anticipating that his chore the next day will be laundry…and probably several other menial tasks if Shouri gets his way. Not that Conrad will ever complain.

—

Ω


End file.
